


07 December

by TheBee



Series: The Bee's 2014 Advent Calendar [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi-Era, References to Character Death, references to other Doctors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBee/pseuds/TheBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has her father's memories in her head.... wait, including that one about Rose Tyler's bum?</p>
            </blockquote>





	07 December

**Author's Note:**

> POV: Tenth Doctor (Tennant’s)  
> WARNING: The Doctor's never polite to himself, when he bumps into himself. And when he's stuck around himself, he resorts to rude names. I'd apologize for the Doctor-on-Doctor bashing, but it's in character.  
> Unbeta'd

“You have my memories?”

_Oh, Rassilon, all those thoughts about how Rose Tyler’s bum? How she would look without… and his daughter? Their daughter? Has them? Noooooo…_

Something of the direction of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Susan looked at him with horror. “Not THOSE!” Her face wrinkled up like Donna’s had, that one time she’d seen him without his vest top on, including the lip curl. “Ew! Dad did some editing, alright? I didn’t need to see any of that! I know my parents had sex but I didn’t need to see it. It’s bad enough I got all the flirtations from when Dad was just you and Ears.” Her eyes flicked around the hallway. “I wish Ears were here. I’d like to give him a piece of my mind about that, too.” She shot a glance at Gramps McGrumpy. “Oh! Do you think I could get his leather jacket to take back with me? I think Mum would like it.”

_She rambles almost as much as I do._

“No,” Gramps replied.

Susan’s face fell into a very Rose Tyler-ish pout.

“You have our memories,” Gramps frowned at her. “You have enough.”

She met him stare for stare. “And what’s Mum supposed to have? Her brain’s still too human to have Dad’s memories. She can’t handle the input from the extra senses, he always had to filter it. All she has are things—objects—to remember him by, **_domestic_** ”—she filled the word with layers of pointed commentary—“as that might be.”

_Domestic. Leather-and-ears wouldn’t have been able to handle this conversation. Too domestic for him—too close to home. Remembering the dead? Ears would have run. Run so far away. I should go see Flock of Seagulls. It wasn’t their best album, but New Wave was a good movement and I could do my hair—_

“You’re not here to collect memorabilia,” his grumpy, grampy, grinchy twelfth self replied. “You crossed universes, traveled the Void, to ask for my help. Why are you here?”


End file.
